


Bitter From The Sweet

by harshmorninglight



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Allison Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Angst, Being Young And Dumb, Bruising, Co-Dependent Friendship, Coping with trauma, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Fairly Canon Compliant, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Loss of Virginity, Multi, Pretty Brutal Coming Of Age, Probably Some Allison/Klaus Energy Too, Questionable Moral Consent, References To Psudeo Incest (Allison/Luther), References to Death (Ben), Slut Shaming, TBH All The Hargreeves Kids Need A Hug, Teen Sex Work, Though I Wasn't Writing It In That Way I Promise, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vomiting, emotional betrayal, no beta we die like ben, non consensual mind control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:46:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25145662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harshmorninglight/pseuds/harshmorninglight
Summary: In their seventeenth summer, Klaus introduces Allison to his world. It's wonderful and beautiful and terrible.
Relationships: Allison Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Allison Hargreeves/Luther Hargreeves (Referenced), Allison Hargreeves/Original Male Character(s), Allison Hargreeves/Patrick (referenced), Klaus Hargreeves/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 80





	Bitter From The Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Trailer Day, Umbrellas! I recently had this very clear vision for a fic I wanted to write, after literally months of not being able to write a thing, and it just so happened that I finished editing it on Trailer Day. I hope you enjoy, if you made it past those tags (because... yeah. There's a LOT going on there, right? :/)
> 
> This is basically what comes of binging Baby on Netflix and listening to Seventeen by Sharon Van Etten on repeat. And also just fully being in love with Emmy Raver-Lampman at this point. This isn't really meant to be a fic where you're meant to fall firmly on one side or the other, though you could read it that way. I wanted to portray a relationship between Klaus and Allison that was at once beautiful and toxic, and I hope I've somewhat succeeded.
> 
> Read the warnings, proceed with caution (nothing is explicit here but the themes are definitely heavy) and always remember this is fiction and certainly not an endorsement of any sort of lifestyles found within.

“I think you should try this on,” Allison tells him, because it _is_ an instruction, not a suggestion. She holds up a green camisole against his chest and he shivers a little at the unexpected coolness of satin against bare skin. “It’ll be a little short on you,” she admits, measuring up the length of his torso with a small frown. “But you don’t mind showing your hips off, do you?”

He blows a cigarette ring out in response, and is thrilled to see her scrutiny break with a giggle.

They survey the pile of clothes that they’ve returned home with. It symbolises the collapse of a dictatorship and Klaus couldn’t be happier to see it, even if it was predated by a yawning, chasming sadness that will never fully close its mouth again. This morning, after Ben’s funeral, Allison had finally done what she’d been threatening to do all year: _The Rumor_ rumored Sir Reginald Hargreeves into relinquishing control over the remaining members of the Academy until _they_ individually decided whether they wished to resume duties. 

In doing so, she ushered in the final death knell of their already drowning team, and Klaus doesn’t even know who is more furious at her currently, Reginald or Luther.

But none of it matters. Ben is dead, his seventeen year old body split into pieces as the Horror inside him finally lost control. Their jailer has finally been neutralised. And Klaus finally understands that the only peace he’ll ever find again lies outside of the Academy walls. 

He’s tempted Allison with the thrill of it for so long, recognising within her defiant restlessness a potential kindred spirit, and he’s dropped hints for months - the clubs he goes to, the people he meets, the appeal of a life so sweet that she wouldn’t even be able to wrap her head around it. Not until she’s seen it for herself.

He brings a small pink hip flask up to his lips, takes a swig of neat vodka, and hands it to Allison who takes a much more delicate sip.

“You’re going to take me out tonight,” she tells him. “Wherever it is you go. We’re going to kiss boys and grind up on each other, and we’re going to laugh in his stupid old face when it’s on the news tomorrow.”

“ _Ma soeur_ ,” Klaus gasps, bringing his hand to his forehead and arching back, because even though he’s faking shock, he needs to also downplay his sheer delight at the fates finally favouring him. “Surely you’re not suggesting we act _indecently_? Who _are_ you, and what did you do with the real Allison?”

“She’s dead, Klausy. Dead dead dead. As dead as Ben.”

If he’d been someone else, someone a little prissier, he’d have told her _too soon_. But he’s Klaus, so he smiles darkly and claps his hands in joy. “You’ve finally passed over to the dark side. Satan and I are _thrilled_ to welcome you into our brethren.”

“Fuck Satan. I could rule hell if I wanted. With my power, I could rule anything.” She snatches the cigarette from Klaus’s fingers and flicks ash onto the camisole, lost for a moment in her anger. “Luckily for that _dick_ who calls himself our father, I’m not a malevolent person. I just want a fucking _life_.”

She looks down, sees the ash starting to burn a hole through the fabric as it rapidly expands outwards into an imperfect circle. She tuts in irritation, before tossing the garment into the waste paper bin. When Klaus raises his eyebrow, she stares back challengingly.

“It’s just _things_ , Klaus. Meaningless _things_.”

He regards the beautiful, smouldering fabric. Surveys the rest of the pile. And proceeds to pick out the skankiest outfit he can find.

***

They leave the Academy via the front door tonight. Allison has armoured herself in high heels and a shimmery dress, silver eyeliner flashing like Athena, and Klaus in a pink crop top and denim hot pants, legs pale and endless, all curls and smokey eyes. He’s so _soft_ , she thinks, so _breakable_ … a tiny viper of ( _fear? jealousy?_ ) twists in her stomach and she pushes it to one side.

On the way out they’re forced to pass Luther’s bedroom. His door is open and he’s sitting rigidly against the headboard, physics text book open, his eyes surveying them angrily as they enter his line of vision. “Gonna tell on us, narc?” she spits out at him, and just like that he goes from daddy’s perfect soldier to a wounded fawn. She takes a breath and forces herself to adjust her tone.

“Just come with us,” she says. “Live a little.”

There’s a pause, as if he’s considering it. Then, “You look like sluts.”

Klaus squeals in faux-delight at that; he’s well practiced in handling the insults of the knuckle draggers of the house. “Oh, Luther’s learnt a new word! Don’t tell me you’ve been raiding Pogo’s dirty magazine supply, Space Boy?”

Allison, though, looks the person she cares about most in the world right in the eye, softly says, “Luther, I heard a rumor that…” and smiles as she sees him brace himself in fear.

“...you had a really pleasant evening.”

 _Strong enough to rise above it_ , she tells herself. _If I cared, I’d be angry. Instead, I’m gracious in victory._

Luther smiles in relief, chucks the heavy book to one side and pulls out a comic from under his pillow. Alllison pushes Klaus by his bare shoulder, urging him forward.

***

The world is spinning, a million tiny fractals swirling and swimming around them as she throws her whole body into the dance. Klaus keeps her anchored, somehow, his hands intertwined with her hands, his warm breath on her face, and she’s never felt so _alive_. Around them a sea of bodies cheer and sing and dance with approval and passion and she turns her face to so much light, basking in their warmth.

“I love you,” she feels her lips form, bringing Klaus in close, her mouth against the shell of his ear. “ _I love you I love you I love I’ll never let anything happen to you never never never_.”

“You’re _flying_ , Allison,” Klaus whispers back. His green eyes are transcendent with wonder. “You’re flying, and I’m flying with you.”

But then... they’re not. Not together. Because Klaus is being pulled away from her by a man, a kind looking man with chocolate brown hair and eyes to match, tall and strong, and Allison finds herself staring at another in front of her. He leans in close and says, “Wow, you’re unbelievably beautiful,” and she’s smiling, smiling at the corniness of it but also the intention behind it, and she turns to see Klaus smiling too, preening as his own suitor says something in his ear, and she… she can only smile brighter, because he looks so happy, so _perfect_ , away from the stress of the Academy, and she’s sure he’d say the same thing if he was looking at her, if he didn’t only have eyes for the man in front of him. 

And now she _sees_ , she sees why Klaus loves this, why he wanted her to experience this. God, she wants to scream with happiness. 

So, she does. And when she’s finished, she finally returns to the man’s statement, because he’s staring at her half-bewildered, half-intrigued, and she likes that look very much.

“I know,” she says, “We’re beautiful and we’re young and we’re _finally_ _free_.” 

He laughs, hands moving to her hips. “So you don’t need me to tell you?”

“I don’t need anyone to tell me anything ever again!”

She grabs his hips in return, pulls him closer, and watches over his shoulder as Klaus goes up on tiptoes to kiss his new admirer. “I’m going to kiss you,” she tells hers, and he leans down and accepts her lips against his. _This_ , she knows how to do, because her stolen kisses with Luther have left her a pro, because she’s always been good at anything physical she turned her hand to.

“Wow,” he says, when she pulls away. He looks starstruck, and Allison thinks that one day it would be nice for lots and lots of people to look at her like that, exactly as she is now, stripped of that stupid domino mask. “Hey, do you and your brother want to come with us to somewhere a bit quieter?”

She kisses him again. Doesn’t ask how he knows they’re siblings. Because even if they’re bad guys, she knows exactly what to do with bad guys.

***

“It suits me, doesn’t it?” Klaus asks. It’s the third night in the row they’ve come back to _Cinnamon_ and he’s getting _quite_ used to it, thank you very much. He twirls the champagne saucer in his hand. “The high life. I wear it well.”

“You’d suit _anything_ , baby,” Tomasz tells him. He just met Tomasz tonight and Klaus thinks he likes him even more than the last two men whose laps he’s sat on. He presses a kiss onto Klaus’s choker-wrapped neck, and Klaus lets out an indiscreet note of pleasure. “Diamonds, pretty panties, silk sheets… you suit it all.”

“Don’t promise him the world unless you’re going to give it to him,” Allison says from the other sofa. She looks like a princess with her hair pinned up, a shimmering ruby clip glittering lucidly in the lowered lights, and Klaus stares at it for a few moments, transfixed.

“Hey, eyes over here,” Tomasz tells him, hand on Klaus’s chin as he re-diverts his attention. He sees something he doesn’t quite like in Klaus’s eyes, pupils too dilated, most likely, and _tsks_ under his breath. “No more lines tonight, little one.”

“Okay. But I want to dance. I want to dance all night,” Klaus compromises. Next to Allison, one arm firmly around her shoulders, her new suitor Damian chuckles. 

“I think you’ve bitten off more than you can chew with that one, Tommy.” 

“Mmm. I’m high maintenance,” Klaus agrees. He wriggles ungracefully out of Tomasz’s grip and then turns to face him. Tomasz is in his thirties, he thinks. Fairer than Klaus’s usual type, but handsome and self-assured with it. Frederick, the club owner, told Klaus that he’d like Tomasz a lot. Klaus isn’t in disagreement so far.

“You can dance for me. For us. But here, not out on the floor. And your sister can join in if she wants. Or she can just watch. I’m sure you like being the centre of attention.”

Klaus glances over his shoulder, suddenly feeling a bit insecure. “Alli?”

“Oh, you go right ahead,” Allison tells him. “Maybe I’ll join you in a bit.”

Klaus feels a small shiver run through him. Allison’s tone is kindly but there’s a challenge to it. She’s playing a game; she’s the older, responsible sister, and he’s the little brat she makes fun of. He likes this game. They played it a lot growing up.

“Why don’t you rumor him?” Damian asks, taking Klaus’s pause to mean reluctance. “That would be hot.”

“Why don’t I rumor _you_?” she immediately responds, turning to face him with a sudden fiery glare, and he holds up his hands in deference.

“Just a thought. A harmless thought.”

Klaus begins to sway in time to the echoey bass music spilling through the cracks of the door to the velvet room. They call it that because most everything in here is made of velvet or lined with it, right down to the top of the private bar. Hell, even _he’s_ dressed in it tonight, a black spaghetti strapped velvet dress that clings to him like seal skin.

“Those hips,” Tomasz says, almost to himself. “So fucking hot.”

Klaus draws closer, aware of the concept of a lap dance but not really sure of the theory behind it. He spreads his legs so that he can straddle Tomasz’s thick thighs, feeling the afterglow of cocaine loosen his limbs as he begins to grind. Tomasz helps him, hands gripping tight on his waist as he moves his lower body round in circles and circles and circles until honestly it becomes a little boring.

It isn’t like dancing with Allison. Not nearly as much fun.

Klaus brings his arms over his head and steals a look over his shoulder as Tomasz pauses his attentions to take an appreciative sip of whiskey. He sees that Allison and Damian have started to make out. Allison is focused on Damian, while Damian’s attentions flick back and forth between her and Klaus.

“Look at me. Just at me,” Tomasz instructs him. His voice is low, and Klaus knows he’s the only one who can hear it. “You’re like a little baby bird, aren’t you? Flitting all over the place.” He leans in close, hooking his hands under Klaus’s arms to pull him forward. “It’s okay to be nervous. I know you’re new to this. I can see you want to be good.”

Klaus nods, and thinks, _I do want to be good, I want to be good at something_. He thinks _this_ , this _life_ , might be something he could do well.

“You’re young and beautiful and famous and you can have the entire world,” Tomasz continues, his voice as velvety as the sofa he sits on. “Do you know how lucky I feel right now? Do you know how special you are? God, I want to give you everything.”

Klaus _melts_ , his legs giving way under him as he lands in Tomasz’s lap, and he’s sure he must look desperate as he covers the man’s chest and neck and face with kisses, but his body _finally_ feels content, lucid, designed for a purpose that’s his and his alone to decide. “Thank you,” he hears himself whispering at Tomasz, “Thank you thank you, I love you, I love you so much.” 

“God, what a sweetheart you are,” Tomasz remarks. He scoops Klaus up into his arms, heading for one of the bedrooms that are housed inside the many facets of this club, carrying him as if he’s as light as air.

On the way out, he hears Allison say, “I heard a rumor that if he says stop, you stop,” and though he appreciates the sentiment from her, and the confirmation that she cares, he knows he won’t ever say that. Never ever ever.

***

Tomasz and Damian don’t come back the next night, because of course they don’t. There are a few regulars that they entertain, but most of the visitors who come to _Cinnamon_ are just passing through. Tomasz isn’t even from America. Klaus doesn’t know why he made all those promises, all that _I’ll look after you, I’ll give you everything_ nonsense, but he thinks on reflection it was a bit mean of him to get his hopes up.

“You liked him, didn’t you?” Allison asks as she fixes their make-up for the night. “You know there will be others like him? Even richer, probably.” 

Klaus blows a raspberry at her.

“I just like getting fucked, Allison. I don’t care who does it. You couldn’t possibly understand because you’re a virgin.”

She stares at him, and he stares right back, but she was always better at this game than him. He’s the first to break eye contact.

***

Allison hates this part. The part when her body betrays her and the champagne turns rancid in her stomach and all she wants is the inside out. She hugs the pristine toilet bowl and groans, and beside her Klaus tucks her hair behind her ear.

“You can go back out there,” she says mournfully. “I know you want to.”

“Only if you’re with me,” Klaus says. “Together, Alli. Always together.”

“Always.”

She dry retches, hoping, _hoping_ this time it will come out, and she’ll be able to go about the rest of the night as normal, and get back to the fun stuff. But nothing happens and she groans in frustration.

“How do you drink so much?” she asks Klaus. “I don’t understand why you never get sick.”

“I do, sometimes. Well, I used to. When I first started.”

She knows that was a long time. A long long time ago. She tries to piece together just how long. Before Ben died, obviously. Most likely before Five left them. The other day she’d watched some trashy expose about Klaus, about how he’d turned into the Academy’s _wild child_ , and they’d shown a clip from an interview when they were twelve years old. Klaus had barely spoken during it, but had smiled glassily the whole time, as though he was trying to keep something inside.

Allison thinks she knows what that something is now, but all she wants is it _out_.

“Anyway, I’ve picked up a few tricks over the years,” Klaus says with a theatrical wink, and before she knows what’s happening he’s pushed his long, slim fingers into her open mouth and down her throat.

It works. It’s gross, but it works.

“I can’t believe you did that,” she says when she’s unloaded for the third time. He offers her a peppermint chewing gum and she takes it with a shaking hand. She always feels like crying after she’s been sick. “There really are no limits to your depravity, are there?”

He grins. “Jesus, Allison, there are _some_.”

Frederick comes to find them a little while later. He takes in Allison’s dishevelled appearance before giving her a fatherly hug, a roll of crisp hundred dollar notes, and calling for a driver to take her home. 

She looks over her shoulder as the door swings slowly shut behind her. Klaus is leaning up into the older man’s touch. His eyes flutter shut like a sleepy kitten as Frederick runs the back of his hand down his face.

***

“Did you know that Diego is training to become a cop?” Klaus asks. “He finally deigned to speak to me earlier.”

“He’ll never make it as a cop,” Allison laughs. “He isn’t a team player.” She wriggles next to him on the single bed, trying to find a comfortable position. It’s always a trip returning to the dorm-like facilities of the Academy after days of lounging around on beds as wide as her whole bedroom. “Luther. Luther would make a good cop.”

“Daddy’s perfect soldier,” Klaus says, a little spitefully. She can’t bring herself to care. It’s not like she hates him anymore. He just seems… so… so… _small_.

“Did you tell Diego? All the… you know? Sordid details. What we do there.”

“I think he worked it out. Just look at this shit hole,” he giggles, and Allison looks around, sees piles of lace and silk, perfume bottles from exclusive French ateliers rolling on their side like they were lifted from Walmart, dollar bills floating around like scraps of discarded poetry.

“Do you care?”

She knows Klaus loves Diego, despite everything. Not… not _that_ kind of love, not the strange and terrifying love she sometimes felt as she stared at Luther’s broad shoulders and cropped blond hair from across the dinner table. But that true sibling love that she never really felt for any of hers. Klaus was the only person who could make Diego laugh, and Diego protected Klaus like he was the only important thing in his life, and Allison often felt jealous and was more than a little mean to Klaus over it.

Maybe sometimes she still is. Maybe that’s why she’s turning the screw a little.

“If he knew, if he _truly_ knew, things would never be the same between you. So I doubt he’s worked it out.”

Klaus hums out a “Maybe.” Allison knows that when he loses syllables, it means he’s close to tears.

“Luther would be the same, though,” she says, in order to soften the blow. She only wanted to needle a little, not actually upset Klaus. She’s just feeling a little irritated today, stretched too thin, deprived of nutrition, her body sore from the men she’s kissed, the hands that have grabbed her. “They just can’t understand. _Boys_ can’t understand.”

“Oh, and Vanya’s gone. Left for music school,” Klaus says, voice a little shaky. “So that’s… that.”

“Seriously?” She looks up at him, peering at him carefully. She always thought Vanya’s violin thing was just a strange little hobby. She certainly didn’t think it was serious enough for actual _music school_.

“You’re accusing me of lying?”

“Well, generally when your lips are moving…”

“Hey!” Klaus looks a little hurt, though she has no idea why. He does lie a _lot_ , always has done. Allison doesn’t hold it against him, because she acknowledges he does what he does to survive. But that doesn’t mean she’ll play the fool for him, believing his every word, like less intelligent people are inclined to.

“I guess I did the right thing,” she says, after some contemplation. Maybe she should feel sad that her only sister has gone, because as much as Klaus isn’t a _brother_ , she’s still not sure sister is the right word for him either. “Rumoring Reginald. I wondered at the time if it was too far. But we all had the choice to return. Of course nobody but Luther would.”

“I think you saved my life,” Klaus says, because he’s always had a penchant for the dramatic. “Honestly, Alli. I think that old bastard would have killed me by now if I’d had to stay.”

“Mmm. You’re welcome,” she replys genially. 

She drifts to sleep off with her head nestled into the crook of his neck, his candy sweet perfume making her dream of fuschia roses that wither as soon as she picks them.

***

( _He says that, he says that, but some nights he thinks he dies, thinks he flatlines, with hands around his neck or his heart hammering and seizing, or his breath exhaling underwater in deep bathtubs as he falls falls falls asleep and he never does, he never does, but he’s not so sure Reginald would have killed him because he’s like a cat, he has nine lives, and he hasn’t used them all up, not yet._ )

***

This is how she loses her virginity: to a boy in the velvet room who had walked in on her as she reclined on the floor because the sofa was irritating her summer-warmed skin, as she took lazy drags from a joint. He looked nice enough, clean shaven and innocent, another of Frederick’s pet projects, and she decided he was as good as any.

She didn’t rumor him, because she isn’t like _that_ , but she thinks it’s likely he was expecting it, and it’s even likelier it would have gotten him off… the thrill of being mind-controlled by _The Rumor_. 

That’s what Allison has found. The type of guys who show an interest in her almost always show an interest in giving up control. They know she can do anything, if she wishes, and it’s a heady and exotic notion to them.

They’re like the polar opposites of the guys who are attracted to Klaus, and she reflects sometimes on the sheer facetiousness of human nature, and how the ones who need the most help are the ones least likely to receive it.

The new boy is a virgin too, and she wonders if Frederick arranged this, but doesn’t care enough to ask. 

Afterwards she cries, for two reasons. One: because she did always kind of believe it would be with Luther, and Two: because she thought that after she’d done it, she’d be able to share this connection with Klaus. Klaus, who has sex every night, and defines himself by it, and yearns for it and talks about it almost as much he yearns for and talks about drugs. She thought that their bond would become unbreakable after this. Two children of the night, lost in their hedonism.

But now she understands with reluctant certainty: she isn’t that person, and whatever… whatever _this_ is, it’s a period of her life that will soon be over. 

Because now she understands, and maybe always has, that she’s so much more than her body.

***

“This is an intervention,” Luther says primly, and Diego at least has the good grace to look embarrassed as he stands by his side. Klaus looks left to Allison, sees she’s still tweaking a little, and lets out a loud, elongated sigh.

“An intervention? For me? For Allison? For both of us? You’ll have to be clearer than that, Space Boy.”

“Klaus,” Diego says warningly. “Just listen for once.”

“This place is…” Luther looks around the small office of _Cinnamon_ that they’ve found themselves in, glances back at the door as if someone is going to burst through it, “...it’s a slum, Allison.”

“Well, this _is_ the dullest room I’ve found myself in, I’ll give you that,” Klaus pitches in again. “Some of the decor is really quite lovely, though. Art Deco, I think? Certainly an upgrade from father’s pompous designs.”

“Allison,” Luther tries again, ignoring Klaus completely. “This isn’t you. I know this isn’t you. That junkie has… he’s _corrupted_ you.”

Klaus looks to Diego, who stares down at the floor.

“Thanks for having my back, Dee.”

“I’m not taking sides here. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass what either of you choose to do. I told Luther this was dumb but he wouldn’t stop going on at me.”

It _is_ a pretty poor intervention, as far as numbers go. Klaus supposes he should be thankful that they didn’t somehow smuggle Pogo and Grace in. 

“Well, Allison is free to leave at any time, and so am I. But after literally years of killing and maiming people, you’ll excuse me if I don’t think this is quite the hell’s pit you’re making it out to be.”

“ _Killing and maiming people_? You mean saving lives and making a difference to the world, right? Allison, come _on_ , you can’t seriously buy this? You were the most powerful out of all of us, the most disciplined, dad _loves_ you, and he-”

“Don’t talk about that asshole here,” Klaus interrupts him, terror trilling through him as he sees Allison’s expression, already tremulous, begin to give way to fury. “If that’s your idea of motivation, you’ve clearly never heard of reverse psychology because-”

“Fuck you, Klaus, I’m trying to talk to Allison. Why don’t you go and score some drugs and blow some guy off? That’s all you’re good for at this point; that’s what all the newspapers are saying, that you’re a teen hooker. You know that, right? I’m trying to stop this before Allison becomes-”

“Luther,” Allison says, and Klaus can hear the quaver of her voice give way to a concrete resolve by the end of the short word. “I need you to _stop_ talking to Klaus like that. Because Luther,” she says again, and rises to her feet, and they all gawp a little at her, because anger is radiating through her body like electric currents through a telephone wire, “if you continue down this path, I’m going to have to tell you _firmly_ that you’re not allowed to talk to me anymore. You won’t be allowed to contact me, or mention my name, or ask after me. It’ll be like I’m dead to you, even though you’ll know I’m alive, _so_ alive, without you figuring into my existence. Do you understand? If you continue to insult me, by making out that I’m some weak damsel in distress who can’t take care of myself, I will turn my power around, and I will make you regret ever thinking you had a connection with me. I will make you _understand_ that Klaus doesn’t control me, and the men I’ve fucked here don’t control me, and _you_ certainly don’t control me. Because, yes, you’re right. I _am_ the most powerful of us. Not _was_. _Am_. And I will use that power however the _fuck_ I like, because I am so sick of _men_ thinking they get to rule my gifts.”

Klaus wonders if it’s appropriate to clap. Probably not. He doesn’t. Anyway, the look on Luther’s face - the sheer outrage of it all - is almost satisfying enough.

Diego doesn’t leave with Luther; he lingers a little while, and huddles with Allison in the corner, muttering something to her. Klaus knows when he’s not wanted, so he hums to himself and dances a little, swaying to the music from the loud speakers outside. And he also tries to ignore the disembodied voice of Ben floating somewhere below him. He’s been hearing that a lot, recently, and he doesn’t know what the hell kind of drugs are causing auditory hallucinations like something out of the Tell-Tale Heart.

“I’m going. But, uh… be careful. Vigilant,” Diego says from behind him, and Klaus smiles lazily, draping himself over Diego’s frame, pulling him in tightly as he begins to sway.

“We never danced, Diego. Not together.”

“I’ve never danced full stop.”

“Liar. I’ve seen you busting out the moves when you think nobody is watching.”

“Klaus,” Diego says, pushing him away lightly. Klaus moans sadly at the loss of warmth. “I mean it. If you’re staying, you have to be careful. You’re…” he looks at Allison and frowns. “You’re not like her. Not like any of us, really. Your power-”

“Yeah, I know, I know. It’s useless. Always has been. But the difference between me and the rest of you is…” he uses Diego’s support on his waist to spin into his arms, so that Diego is bracing him from behind, rolling his eyes as he looks down at Klaus’s upturned face, “I’m smart. Cunning. Like a… a fox.” He nods. “Nobody gets the better of me.”

Diego sighs, ruffles his hair, says, “Sure thing, Klaus.” And then he’s gone, and Klaus knows he won’t see him for the rest of the summer.

***

The thing that Allison loves most, if she’s being honest, is not the beautiful clothes or the fancy champagne or the handsome men that shower her with compliments and call her a queen. It’s dancing. When she’s out on the floor with the speakers vibrating through her core, and Klaus is by her side, and they’re laughing and laughing and laughing and making up for all those lost years of _never being allowed to laugh_ , it’s enough to make her cry with happiness. 

Because they were never really allowed to cry either, so sometimes she does that too, and nobody can hear her over the music, and she just loves it so so much.

***

This week she’s thinking about a guy who’s been coming to _Cinnamon_ every night since he arrived in the city.

His name is Patrick and Allison thinks he’s one of the hottest guys she’s ever seen.

So does Klaus: he positively _melts_ when Patrick rubs his shoulder or leans in close to say something so he can be better heard over the music.

But Patrick only has eyes for Allison, and that’s how Allison knows he’s one of the good ones.

Look, she doesn’t _like_ that thought: that on average, the type of guys who are attracted to Klaus are the ones she wouldn’t touch in a million years. The grasping, sweaty, sleazy frequenters of the club, who loudly and obnoxiously tells Klaus he’s the prettiest thing they’ve ever seen, because most likely he is. But there it is. Allison has learnt these past few weeks to judge a guy’s moral compass by how much interest they show in fucking Klaus.

And Patrick passes the test with flying colours.

She’s fucked a few guys since she started here. But Patrick is the first to make her feel tingly and hot all over. Frederick is pleased with her: apparently Patrick’s father is some big Hollywood hot shot producer, so Patrick is definitely the type of customer _Cinnamon_ caters to behind the scenes. But it isn’t a transaction: Allison makes sure of that.

And when she rumors Patrick into not paying for her, she also rumors him to forget Frederick even offered her services.

Because… she thinks there might be something here. Something _bigger_ than Frederick, and _Cinnamon_ , and bigger than Klaus, and maybe bigger than this city. When Patrick talks about the movies, about Los Angeles, and the appeal of the silver screen, and how awesome Allison would look in front of the camera (but always, _always_ now without the domino mask), she thinks that she could see it happening. She thinks that it might be the thing that she’s ready to move onto next.

“He’s daddy material,” Klaus says. “I mean, not like _that_ , he’s only a few years older than us. Well... maybe like that.” He blinks, trying to remember his train of thought. “But… you know? He’s the type of guy I’d imagine marrying one day. 2.4 children. White picket fences. The works.”

Allison sips her champagne and watches Patrick closely. He tells a charming joke to the woman at his side, who tips back her glossy blonde hair and laughs. But he’s looking at Allison. 

He’s only looking at Allison.

***

The summer is reaching its apex and Klaus is feeling a bit run down. He has bruises on his hips and around his wrist and neck and he likes it, he really _does_ , but he knows he’s not looking his best. Frederick slips him and Allison some extra money one day, tells them he’s booked them into a spa downtown.

Before they leave he traces his hands over Klaus’s neck, and Klaus files a little sluggishly through his head to find Frederick’s category of preferences: childish, petulant, but still undeniably obedient.

He pouts, makes a small noise of discomfort. “Hurts.”

“Well, you know you just need to ask, angel. I’ll tell them not to be so rough.”

Klaus bites his lip and opens his eyes real wide. “But then they wouldn’t love me as much, daddy.”

Allison has already left the room: he’d probably feel a little ashamed if she was still here. As it is, though, Frederick’s smile of approval leaves Klaus on a high as he heads out after her.

At the spa, they’re able to relax, and under the dimmed lights of the treatment, with whale songs piped through the walls, he almost begins to feel normal. They’re treated to massages, facials, mani-pedis, all taken care of by Frederick’s inexhaustible wallet. And afterwards, as they relax in their hotel room in the claw-foot bathtub that just about holds both their bodies side by side, with only a little squirming up against each other, he’s almost able to forget the club for the time being.

“Do you ever miss the food at the Academy?” Allison asks as she necks champagne straight out of the bottle. “Boiled potatoes and two vegetables and tasteless meat, each and every meal time.”

“Followed by sticky toffee pudding that wasn’t sticky and definitely wasn’t toffee?” Klaus asks, before sighing. “Yeah. A bit.”

“That’s how I knew Reginald was evil. He designed Grace, the most advanced AI system in the world, and then made her cook the same boarding school meal again and again and again just to instill _discipline_ in us.”

“A true sadist.” He snorts. “Do you think poor Luther is still there eating it?”

Allison shrugs, her beautiful face self-consciously softening to mask her irritation at the question. “Probably. He and Diego always liked her cooking. They never got bored of it, those weirdos.”

“No. Luther liked dad’s approval, and Diego liked mom’s approval. It wasn’t about the cooking.”

He looks up and sees Ben standing behind Allison. “I liked it,” he tells Klaus. “I could have eaten it for fifty more years. Easily.”

Klaus looks across at Allison who is leaning over the edge of the tub to flick through a vintage fashion magazine. “Alli?” he says, and she barely glances up.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Sometimes I… I think I see Ben.”

She doesn’t look up, but her hand flutters over the page mid-turn. She lets it drop, and lets out a small sigh. “I think that’s normal. I know you miss him. I do too.”

“I miss her. Tell her I miss her,” Ben says. Klaus blinks, wondering if he could sink down now. Sink deep, deep into the tub. Whether he could drown before Allison looks up and wonders what he’s up to.

“But what if it’s real,” he says, voice so small he isn’t sure it’ll reach her. “What if it’s my powers? Like… I’m connected to him.”

She hears him. She sighs again, but it’s longer, more beleaguered. “You’re high _all_ the time, Klaus. And I don’t say anything, you know I don’t judge you for it, but if you’re going to demand more attention from me with blatant lies… I don’t know if I can play along with that.”

Lies. She says she can always see through his lies. It’s some real _Boy who cried wolf_ shit, and he knows he deserves it, because sometimes he’s so sure he’s telling the truth, he must be so good at lying that he even managed to convince himself.

She must see the glossiness of tears in his eyes when she glances across at him, because she suddenly dives towards him, hugging him bodily so they sink to the bottom of the deep tub, and giggle and splutter as they come up for air. She turns him around so he’s sitting between her legs, and she bathes him like he’s a child, pressing kisses against his bruises and telling him how much she loves him and how grateful she is to him for helping her _live_. 

They don’t talk about Ben again. Not even in passing. It becomes a no-go subject and Klaus just has to accept that it’s another echo of their childhood that they’ve implicitly and silently agreed not to revisit.

***

“I think we should take pictures,” she tells him later, once she’s styled his hair into soft curls and painted his lips pink and his eyes smoky. He looks a lot like he did that first night, when they discovered _Cinnamon_ , and built their world around it. She has a polaroid camera. Klaus doesn’t know who gave it to her but he’s a little jealous. “You need to know how beautiful you are. I don’t think you even see it.”

He’s good at posing sexy, but it’s not what she wants from him. She makes him sit, makes him think about all the things he’s grateful for, and all the things he loves, and he just thinks _you you you_ until his expression is wistful and his shoulders are relaxed and all he can feel is warmth inside him, blooming out like a stargazer lily.

Afterwards, though, she won’t show the pictures to him. She tucks them into her bra and wags her finger at him when he whines for her to give in. “When the time is right, Klausy. When the time is right.”

“She’s acting weird,” Ben says, and Klaus can’t find it in himself to disagree.

That night, she climbs into his bed even though the room holds two doubles. She holds him close and he imagines they’re back in the beds at the Academy, clinging to each other through their nightmares.

It’s fake, though, because he and Allison were never that close back then. Maybe sometimes Diego held him like this? He thinks he did.

Or... maybe not. Klaus can barely remember anymore. People touch him all the time now. And he loves that for himself. He really, really loves that.

***

She sends polaroids to Patrick every few days, writes him long love letters, tells him she’ll be with him soon, as soon as she knows Klaus will be okay.

But Klaus is never okay. Honestly, Allison is beginning to think he knows her plans, and that he’s getting himself into these messes on purpose.

Even Frederick is frustrated with him. He tells Allison that Klaus keeps begging clients for drugs, and it isn’t a good look. Says that he hears him speaking to himself constantly. Says that regulars are getting bored with him because he lets them do anything so there’s no thrill to it anymore.

And Allison _knows_ that Frederick is a sleaze, and that half his frustrations have arisen from his own boredom of Klaus. She also suspects he’s growing increasingly suspicious of Allison’s long term commitment. But she also can’t help it: she feels angry at Frederick but she’s more _annoyed_ with Klaus, with the unchecked headiness of his lifestyle, with his insistence on always, _always_ flying too close to the sun. 

Deep down, Allison knows that once she leaves _Cinnamon_ , Klaus will be thrown out not long after. He’s too much of a wildcard, and without Allison he’ll have even less of an anchor.

So a plan begins to form in her mind. A way that she can do some good, and rescue Klaus, and go and get her own happily-ever-after with Patrick on the other side of the country. All wrapped up neatly in a bow. 

If her power was ever needed, now is the time. The start of her new life.

First of all, she takes her earnings from _Cinnamon_ , the money she never really needed (because when you can control people’s minds, money is one of the least necessary things in the world), and she uses it to book Klaus into the nicest rehab centres in the city. 

Secondly, she rumors Frederick into forgetting they ever worked here. Third: she rumors Klaus into thinking he isn’t allowed back into _Cinnamon_ under any circumstances. It’s easy. It’s all so easy, and she once again thanks whichever entity handed out their powers the day they were born, and blessed her with such fortune..

She draws the line at completely controlling Klaus’s autonomy: the rehab is up to him, his next steps are his and his alone. But she has to protect him from Frederick, she tells herself, and she’s done that now, and he’d be grateful to her if he could only remember her doing it. 

( _And if it helps to protect her own reputation? Well, she’s going to be a movie star. She can’t have any hint of a scandal of teen sex work following her around, can she? That isn’t a big ask. It was just a fun summer, and now it’s over, and it’s society’s problem for always making things into a bigger deal than they have to be._ )

Klaus is all smiles and chatter in the cab as they head to the clinic. He doesn’t know where they’re going, not yet, and Allison allows herself to feel a pang of grief at the relationship she’s about to leave behind.

“Well, my dear Wendy. Wasn’t that an awfully big adventure!” Klaus remarks in a terrible imitation of Peter Pan. She giggles erratically, and nods, and thinks she does a decent job of holding back her tears. Klaus, though, immediately understands something’s wrong. He pulls her close and whispers, “Hey, hey, it’s fine! I’m sorry I messed up with Frederick, but we’ll… we’ll find something else. Won’t we? Hell, with your brains and my beauty, we can do _anything_. And we’ve got money, we’ve got enough money to-”

“Klaus, we are. We are doing something. You’re going to a safe place. And I’m… I’m moving. To live with Patrick.”

“Patrick?” He frowns. “ _Hollywood_ Patrick?” He swallows nervously. “I don’t think I want to move all the way out there, Alli. I… what about Diego?”

“You’re not, Klaus. You’re not. You’re staying here. I’ve booked you into _Hope Springs_. It’s… it’s a really great facility. They’re doing awesome work there with addicts and I think… once you’re out… maybe… but Diego will have you then, I know he will, or you can go and help Luther, or even get your own lovely little place… anything… you can do _anything_ , Klaus...”

Klaus pulls back, his head hitting the car window behind him. He’s shaking his head and fidgeting already, and if he’s trying not to look like an addict, he’s failing miserably.

“Sis, come on, I know I messed up but I don’t… I’m not an _addict_. I just… you know I need to take the edge off, right? Maybe I’ve been going a little too hard recently but I can reign it back in, and…” 

He sees something in her eyes, a clear mental distancing as she shuffles back in her seat a little, and he leans forward, grabbing her legs desperately. “Okay, okay, I’ll go… you’re right. A little R&R… it will do me good! But you have to stay with me, okay? If you stay with me, I think I’ll be strong enough to get through it. You have to be waiting for me on the other side, and you can’t let me go, because I need you, Alli, I need you to-”

“Klaus, I’m not… I’m not your carer, okay? This summer was fun but it was always a temporary situation. You must have known that, right? It couldn’t last forever.” 

Her little brother’s betrayed expression suggests that… maybe… maybe he didn’t know that. Not really. But that isn’t her fault. That _isn’t_ her fault if he didn’t understand the terms of this agreement.

So. Okay. 

She composes herself, tries a different tack. “I’m falling in love, I think. I want to spend my life with Patrick. Build a family. Remember, you said it yourself? He’s the marrying kind. 2.4 kids, the white picket fence. I always knew that was me. That was always my dream, to-”

“Patrick fucked me,” Klaus says, his voice an explosion of hatred, his teeth bared, and Allison’s mind and body recoils at how ugly he looks in that moment. “He fucked me in the velvet room one night while you were off puking your guts up like the inexperienced _child_ you are. He didn’t want you then. He wanted _me_. Guys always want _me_ , Allison, you’d only ever be their second-”

He looks like he wasn’t expecting the slap, though Allison surely can’t understand why. When she brings her hand away, she feels surprisingly calm. Klaus has begun to make small, choked noises, like a dying animal, and all Allison wants is to be rid of it.

When they arrive at _Hope Springs_ , Klaus tries one more time. He composes himself, the feral animal back in his cage: he now looks utterly terrified, and so fucking young, and Allison can barely look at him because his emotions are too real, too raw, and _how has she never seen this side to him and why is this taking so long and why why why can’t he just understand?_

“I just thought of some-”

“Leave the car, Klaus. They’re waiting for you at reception.”

“Listen! I thought of a way. You can rumor me. I won’t mind. I’m telling the truth. Rumor me, Allison. I’m not _lying_ , goddamnit, he fucked me, I swear, he-”

He stops dead when Allison leans forward and takes his face in her hands. For a moment he looks hopeful: for a moment he looks like he’s telling himself to stop talking because it’s no longer necessary, because he’s finally convinced her. 

She presses a kiss to his forehead, and tells him softly, “I’m not rumoring you, Klaus. I don’t need to rumor you to know when you’re lying. I can tell. I can always tell. It’s when your lips are moving.”

 _That_ , she thinks, is unnecessarily harsh, but words always worked better on Klaus than physical actions, and the slap had done nothing. Nothing.

He leaves without further argument, though he looks over his shoulder the whole time he walks down the gravelled path to reception, as if imploring her to change her mind.

She doesn’t. But as the cab pulls down the leafy driveway and heads out to the freeway, and hurtles to the airport, she does finally allow herself to cry. 

She thinks she owes both of them that much, at least.

***

“She was right about those pictures,” Ben says. They’re waiting next to a fruit platter on Klaus’s bed when he arrives in his room; a beautiful, sunlit-filled room that looks out onto the regally-upkept lawns of _Hope Springs_ below it. “You look like you used to look. Happy. Sweet.”

“Stop trying to talk to me,” Klaus snarls at him. “Can’t you give me some privacy for once?”

“I’m not _trying_ to talk to you, I _am_ talking to you. In fact, I think I’m stuck with you,” Ben says. Klaus never remembered him being this sassy in life. “I don’t like it anymore than you do, bro.”

Klaus sits on the bed and looks at the three polaroid pictures Allison left for him. The first two are just of him, in the baby pink silk kimono he wore in the hotel bedroom the night she took them, his curls ruffled, lips parted and soft, his face the happiest and most relaxed he’s ever seen it.

The third is of both of them, gripping the sides of the Polaroid camera, staring straight down the lens.

She’s radiant. She always has been. She never belonged to his world. She was just a tourist.

He sneaks a cigarette and lighter out of his tight lace panties, rolls out the flame. As the smoke detectors go off above his head, he burns three holes into three pictures. 

He just leaves her face. 

“Much better,” he says, as he slips the polaroid into the seal of the dresser mirror. Then, with a flourish, he turns to face his newest jailers as they force open the door.


End file.
